


Pacify

by millenial_falcon



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Breathplay, Deepthroating, Finger Sucking, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 03:19:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9949976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millenial_falcon/pseuds/millenial_falcon
Summary: Baze and Chirrut steal a private moment together in an occupied city.





	

Chirrut's favorite kind of intimacy with Baze is when the other man maps him out with the palms of his hands. The gesture is by necessity familiar to him, of course. He has every inch of Baze committed to memory - all his soft edges, the give of flesh over his hips, the breaks in the smoothness of his skin for scars, the tension of well-toned muscle under his surface, the smile lines that he's had since they were young, in spite of everything, that inevitably deepen whenever Chirrut touches his face. But Baze running hands over him makes him think of being drawn into existence, his sense of his own form traced over, given boundaries defined with care and love. Where Baze prioritizes sometimes makes him laugh, the way he'll linger on his chest or the cut of his hips, the scrape of his nails against his side. His hands are rough and warm always and the perfect kind of broad that makes being held by him calming and centering.

They rarely get quiet moments alone together. They do have their own place, finally, small and poorly insulated though it may be. But more often than not, they're exhausted, by hunger or paranoia, by three days straight on stims when Chirrut was coordinating the disruption of a child trafficking line to the Empire, or when Baze had nearly been disappeared running into old acquaintances and stumped back home with the gait of a man who had endured torture. If not exhausted, they’re keyed up from narrow escapes, skirmishes gone bad, adrenaline surging through them that sometimes leads to rough, desperate collisions, but usually just leaves them wrung out and tense. They pick up wounds that take time to heal, because they're both good, but neither of them are perfect. Baze gets headaches on the same side as his bad ear, especially when their scuffles with the Imperials involve ordnance, and Chirrut has a rib that knit bad after a break and shortens his breath when it acts up.

When Baze takes jobs they fight, in long, sullen silences that help no one. Chirrut would rather live in poverty than feel the way killing for survival warps the energy around his soft-hearted husband, wraps him in a cold, dead shell. Baze doesn't give much care for himself, but seeing the indignities of destitution inflicted on Chirrut is more than he can stomach, sets him spiralling into hopelessness and foul moods. Yet they always come back to each other, whether across the distance between the worlds Baze leaves for, or the gulf of disagreement hanging heavy over their little room. However rare they may be, they always manage to snatch up what brief moments of peace they can grasp together, always treasure the little pieces of calm and quiet they are gifted.

It is easier to find respite after dark. The clatter of patrols enforcing curfew still reaches them from the streets, and the hum of electricity powering the sensors that line the hall outside their door still itches the back of Chirrut's mind. But the heavy fabrics Baze hangs over their window to keep the cold out muffle things, insulate them from the rest of the city. Though Chirrut is loath to admit it when they are at odds, blood money is easier to come by than other means, and their finances, their comforts, are better off in the days after Baze has returned from a job. Their spirits may be a different story, but they work on that together, trading forgiveness and comfort. Some nights, Chirrut winds his way through the darkness and the heavy isolation that Baze wraps around himself, coaxes him back to the present. Others, now, Baze is steadfast, solid, using his presence to anchor Chirrut to him, renewing in silence his promises to never leave as he had before.

The smell of tallow hangs heavy over the room because there are better things to tax their tiny generator with. Fuel crackles in their stove and damp heat lingers in the air, on Baze's skin, soft and clean. Chirrut is laid, shoulders and head, in the cradle of his lap, and he reaches up with a fond laugh until his fingers find the freshly-trimmed scruff of Baze’s beard, the corners of the smile already pulled across his husband’s face. He traces the lines of it with his thumbs before pulling away and coiling tangled strands of still wet hair around his fingers. Baze grunts a little, not displeased, when he combs through it, shakes droplets of water from it onto his face. The pads of his fingers slide softly up over Chirrut's ribs, framing his breath, tracing a path as high as his armpits before leaving his skin. Baze's hands fold around Chirrut's wrists and unthread him from his hair. The firm, underlying command of the gesture sends a small shiver through Chirrut, makes him arch his back as Baze moves his arms, rearranging them around his bare waist. He tips his chin up, face towards Baze, biting his lower lip with a soft quirk of his upper, eyes dropping heavy lidded because he's memorized by now which expressions make his husband run hot. A heavy grip runs up his arms in response, thick fingers long enough to wrap at his elbows, but slowly spreading around his upper arms, palms sliding inwards, smoothing over his triceps, reaching his bare collar.

The broad heat of Baze's hands presses flat against the sides of Chirrut's throat, thumbs lined up along the curve of his jaw. The gesture is a silent question Chirrut knows well and he happily sighs his permission, lips parting slack and and shoulders relaxing. His crown nudges against the softness of Baze's lower belly. Fingers curl under his chin, put the faintest hint of pressure against the apple of his throat, quickening his breath with anticipation. Baze’s warmth slides up the side of his face, molds perfectly around his cheek. The nail of his thumb scrapes gently at the corner of his mouth, making Chirrut twitch a little smile. He wets his lips as Baze’s hand clasps the front of his throat, heavy and gentle, thumb resting just at the hinge of his jaw. His first finger tilts his head back just a little more and a thrill sings through Chirrut’s skin.

Baze's hand on his throat is his anchor, the other exploring, defining, revealing the planes of his face. Chirrut is bare to the waist and Baze's heat, his energy trickles through him, down his chest, mixing in his core. He tightens his arms around Baze's thick waist, palms against the softness of his lower back, shifting in his lap with an eagerness that pulls a low laugh from Baze down onto him. The weight on his throat settles a little more firmly, just on the cusp of stifling his breath, and Baze stills him with thumb and finger clasping either side of his jaw. A tiny gasp slips from Chirrut. He puts nails to Baze's back, light pressure to spur him on, getting a tighter grip on his neck in response. Baze's other thumb smoothes over the flat curve of his cheekbone, palm still cradling his face. He maps out a line running from the side of his nose to the corner of his mouth, hand shifting to explore the softness that gathers at his jaw, fingers curling under and into a solid hold on his chin, overlapping those around his throat. He's tugged up just a fraction more, heart quickening in response to the rough pad of Baze's thumb outlining his bottom lip, catching skin just enough to pull lightly. Chirrut tries to lick his lower lip into his mouth, to taste Baze's touch on him, and Baze chases immediately. He pulls Chirrut's mouth back open with his thumb alone, drags a loose circuit around his parted lips.

Against the back of his head, Chirrut feels Baze's breath pick up. He darts his tongue out to catch Baze's thumb but Baze is quicker. His grip catches Chirrut's chin instead, his hand squeezes a little warning around his neck, and a soft laugh rumbles around Chirrut from deep in Baze's belly, fond and devastating. Chirrut's hands slide to Baze's flanks, fingers curling into the roughness of the towel twisted around his waist. Baze shifts, just a little, knees moving under Chirrut's shoulders. Chirrut's head spins as Baze tips it back further, thumbing rough at his bottom lip. Damp strands of hair brush faintly over his shoulders and Baze's heat, his presence, curls around him, muffles out all other input. Their breath mingles in the hollow-sounding space between them, Chirrut's going shallow as Baze squeezes just a little tighter. His body hums with the heat and command of Baze's hands on him and he surrenders to them entirely with another soft sigh, mouth going slack once more under the exploring pull of his thumb.

One thick finger pushes into his mouth slowly, nail bed ragged but clean, pressing down against the flat of his tongue. The sensation makes Chirrut shuffle his feet over their sheets, rock his hips just barely, clutch at the towel his hands hang from. His coil of tension is answered with a breath-cutting squeeze, pulling a stilted gasp from him, stretching his mouth open for another finger. Baze plunges into him until he finds the root of his tongue, thumb and pinky clutching his cheeks, holding his mouth in place. He cups the full width of Chirrut's jaw, easing off his throat and compelling his lips to close around him. With a heavy draw of breath through his nose, Chirrut sucks at the two fingers Baze pumps into him slow, knuckles bumping past the tight seal of his lips.

Against the curve of his nape into his shoulder, Chirrut feels the press of Baze's prick, thickening as he feels out Chirrut's mouth, as Chirrut slides his tongue over the intrusion of his fingers. It prompts Chirrut to unfold one hand from his grip on Baze's towel, slide his knuckles and the backs of his fingers down the fabric covering the seam of his leg joining his hip. Baze reacts instantly, pulling his fingers from Chirrut with a little tug at the corner of his mouth that's rough enough to make his hips jerk in excitement. In the same movement, Baze yanks Chirrut’s head aside, fingers hooked behind his jaw, pressing his cheek to the warm skin of his inner thigh. Chirrut gasps shakily and Baze's grip curls around his wrist, leads him back to rest his palm patiently on the outside of his hip. When he releases his hold, Baze moves back to Chirrut's face. He lays the whole of his palm along the side of his head, covering Chirrut's ear and blocking his hearing, isolating him further in the press of his touch wrapped around him.

In the cradle of his hands, Chirrut blinks slowly, breathes deep. Damp hair tickles the curve of his neck. Baze's fingers curl reverent around his jaw, then back to his mouth, pulling along the outline of his lips. He covers Chirrut's mouth with a firm press and guides him back to center. Baze's thumb splits the seam of his lips and Chirrut lets slip a soft smirk as he sucks him in. A soft huff of a laugh echoes his expression back at him. Baze cradles Chirrut's chin and the line of his jaw, his other grasp closing back down over his throat with an easy swiftness that makes Chirrut gasp the last of his free breath. His thumbnail scrapes light and gentle at the roof of his mouth, rubs tenderly over his soft palate as Chirrut laves at his skin, grin pulling wider around him. The fingers at the side of his throat dig in, squeeze tighter, make Chirrut groan stifled and dig his heels into the sheets and let his knees fall relaxed and open. A thick, shivering breath falls upon him, washes over the parts of his face not warmed by Baze's skin.

Without urgency, Baze's hands turn his head. His every move is slow and telegraphed, from the clutch of thick fingers repositioning Chirrut by the jaw, to the touch slipping from the ring of his lips, to the deep press of the heel of his palm into the hollow of his throat, drawing a choked gasp from him and leaving his mouth slack for air. The tactile roughness of Baze's towel scratches his cheek as Baze's hips shift, as he withdraws the gentler half of his touch and lets a deeply inhaled grunt slip from the back of his nose into the warm shared space of their breath. Chirrut squeezes Baze's flank, looses his other hand from its grip in the waist of his towel to wind around his forearm, sliding down to feel the little flexes of muscle and ligament in Baze’s wrist as he uncovers himself. In response, Baze clutches his jaw tighter, presses his face further into the hollow of his lap, pulls his chin down and mouth open just to the cusp of discomfort as Chirrut's shoulders shake with the controlled tension keeping him from rolling over entirely.

Soft, heat-flushed skin touches Chirrut's lips first. Chirrut slides his fingers over the back of Baze's hand to feel him as he rubs his cock over his open mouth, offers his tongue flat atop his bottom lip. Baze comes to rest there, hot and heavy, and catches Chirrut when he tries to crane forward onto him, the hold under his chin tightening around his throat. The squeeze and the feel of being held in place makes Chirrut writhe, rasp for breath he doesn't have. He strains, tests Baze's grip, snakes his tongue wet and demanding under the weight of the cock laid against him. A groaning huff of laughter caresses his cheeks, the ridge of his nose, and the warmth of a palm presses gentle to his forehead for just a moment. In the next, he's shoved back, into the soft give of Baze's inner thigh. Head and throat bound in Baze's firm grip, Chirrut gapes, liquid heat pooling under the squeeze around his windpipe, flushing down through his chest and belly, making his hips jerk with need. He clings to his hold on Baze's wrist, scrabbles fingers up his side, holds himself just above the surface of sinking into the heat and presence of the other man entirely. His stolen breath is returned to him as fingers trail off his throat rough, drag over his chin as he gasps and his thighs flex, hook into the corner of his mouth and pull, pull his head across the last empty fraction of distance, rough whorls against the inside of his cheek tugging and wrapping his lips around the head of Baze's cock.

A thin groan escapes Chirrut on heavy breath through his nose. A throaty gasp answers him. Baze's thumb finds the soft spot behind his ear, two fingers braced on his chin as the other two feel out the seal of Chirrut's lips around his prick. Both palms, across his brow and laid over the swell of his cock in his cheek, rock Chirrut's head in a short, demanding motion that makes Chirrut roll his eyes shut. He breathes the tension from his neck and shoulders through his nose, groans in the back of his throat. His angle coupled with Baze's thickness are good for little else but the stretched-wide wrap of his lips around Baze's crown, the nudge of his head into the softness of his cheek. Chirrut laves at him, drools trails of spit that run down his shaft as each tug of Baze's hands pushes a little groan from his throat to press right up against Baze's skin.

The tickling sway of hair lifts from his shoulders and everything shifts around Chirrut as Baze arches upright. Fabric rustles loud in his ears, coarse towel against soft sheets. Baze's knee presses between his shoulderblades and the muscles in his flank shift against Chirrut's palm. His heavy breath and soft, thick groan dissipate into the space of their room, no longer constrained by his hollow curl over him. Chirrut's only fixed point is the grip of Baze's hands around his head and the fullness of his cock in his mouth. He suckles at the head, lips tight and urgent, slicks his mouth wetter. The buck of Baze's hips makes him groan, humming around his dick, his own hips jerking an echo.

Chirrut groans again, deeper, when Baze's hold on him shifts. The palm at his brow slides sideways, fingertips tracing the curving bone around his eye before trailing lower, wrapping around Baze's spit-slick shaft. He curls fingers around Chirrut's chin, thumb flicking over his ear to feel out the lump of his cockhead stretching his cheek. Chirrut arches back over Baze's knee, hand freed from its clasp on Baze's wrist to dig the heel of his palm between his legs as Baze strokes himself, short little jerks, bumping knuckles against Chirrut's face. He rubs at the head of his dick through Chirrut's cheek, over his skin, and Chirrut whines through his nose, flickers his tongue over what thickness of his cock Baze has fed him. A ragged, near-desperate sound answers him, coils down through him and wraps around his heart as Baze spills over into his mouth.

The heavy rise and fall of Baze's belly and the soft canting of his hips rocks Chirrut's head as half of Baze's orgasm washes the back of his tongue, runs down his throat. The rest spurts from his lips messily, trickles over the knuckles gripping his chin. Chirrut laughs wet when Baze pulls himself from his mouth with a wet pop, keeps laughing in a thick hum as he's filled again with Baze's fingers, sucking them clean of his cum. He kneads his own cock through his trousers, neglected and aching, and hears a soft curse muttered above him. His head rises and falls with Baze's deep sigh and he rocks into his own touch, butterflying his thighs.

“Fuck,” Baze repeats, more raw than before, more urgent, before pitching Chirrut out of his lap in an awkward rush. His palm slapping against his bare hip knocks surprised laughter from Chirrut that persists through Baze's eager scrabble down his body. Head dropping back against their bed, Chirrut laughs as Baze's fingers curl in the waist of his pants, as he lifts his helps to help him shove them halfway down his thighs. His laughter hitches and bubbles and twists into a loud, raw-throated groan under the sudden wet heat Baze sheathes around his bared prick. He jerks into the feeling of him and Baze clasps his hip, presses him back down as his nose nuzzles at his balls and his beard scruffs at the soft skin of his belly. Another noisy groan scrapes from his abused, cum-slick throat and Chirrut gropes until he finds Baze's thigh beside his shoulder, winds an arm around it and pulls the length of Baze's body up against his.

Arm slung around and between the thickness of Baze's legs, the softness of his balls and spent prick nestled against his chest, Chirrut plunges his hand into Baze's hair and chases his orgasm selfishly. He pumps his hips into the squeeze of Baze's throat, little huffs of air hitting his thighs with each thrust and stealing all his attention. Body already tight with arousal, Chirrut curls into Baze's clinging hold. He drags his hand over the back of Baze's thigh, up the swell of one bare asscheek, groping a heavy, vibrating groan out of him that he plunges towards with a gasp. With a heavy palm against the back of his head, Chirrut grinds against Baze in controlled little rolls of his hips, stuttering over a final loud moan as he empties down his throat.

They come down together, slow and panting. Baze lays with his cheek pressed where Chirrut's thigh meets his hip, Chirrut with his arm still between his legs, one palm still cupped over his buttock, a circuit of spent energy. The humidity of Baze's bath has dissipated from their room and the night chill lurks at the edges of Chirrut's awareness, waiting for the last crackles of embers to die out. With a deep heave of breath, Baze stirs first, lifts himself so Chirrut's hand passes idly between his legs, and settles beside him with an ungainly thump and a grunt. His touch begins at Chirrut's edges so as not to startle, knuckles light against his ribs that move inward, fold over into a palm that travels up his chest, gentle fingers at the hollow of his throat.

“Think you're gonna bruise,” Baze's voice is deep and sex-rough above him, his touch following the hard line of his neck. He'll worry later; any inclination towards roughness, even that which Chirrut deliberately encourages him towards, he will turn over and over and over in his mind until it has been wound into a perfect little knot of self-recrimination. Chirrut offers him a wide, sleepy smile in barest consolation, following the palm that cups his cheek up Baze’s arm to his shoulder, seeking his uncombed hair. With only the slightest prompting pull, he brings Baze bending down towards him. Lips touch his closed eyes, one after another, move softly to his brow, before Baze shifts. He slots his nose beside Chirrut’s, rests their foreheads together. Chirrut slips his fingers further into the tangle of Baze’s hair, traces the shell of his ear.

“They’ll fade,” Chirrut tells him soft, voice low and still tarnished, working his other arm out of its trap beside his body to hug Baze’s leg, thumb petting over the top of his thigh. “You did nothing wrong.”

Baze’s breath spills over his lips, outlines the boundaries of his face as fingers tenderly stroke the borders of his jaw and neck. “You’re so good to me, aren’t you?” Chirrut asks quietly and Baze answers with a soundless laugh and a swell of emotion that pushes against him, curls around him warm and wanting. He clasps the nape of Baze’s neck, pulls him further into his hunch to find his mouth, catching his lips on the soft quirk of a fond smile. They stop just short of a kiss, Chirrut scraping nails up over Baze’s scalp before Baze rises with a deep inhale. Fingers trail back down Chirrut’s throat, along the line of his collar, as a chill presses itself to the fuzzy edges of his languid warmth.

“Relight the fire?” he asks, squeezing the inside of Baze’s thigh. With a gruff affirmation, Baze shuffles off their bed. Chirrut wriggles the rest of the way out of his trousers, gropes around for their cast aside blankets, listening to Baze moving around their room. The little fuel bricks they use clack against each other, rattle in their tin. Water sloshes with Baze rinsing his hands, followed by the flap of his towel, followed by little huffing breaths and the sharpening smell of smoke from extinguished candles. Their sensors in the hall hum muffled in the back of Chirrut’s mind and Baze’s uneven, right-favoring gait approaches their bed. Chirrut reaches for him as he feels to draw aside their covers, finds Baze’s offered, seeking arm and reels him in, pulls his warmth and bulk and the trailing strands of his hair down right to his own limits of his self.


End file.
